


A Violin Concerto For You

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, John can also play the piano, M/M, Music, They deal withit through music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent”<br/>― Victor Hugo</p><p>When Sherlock lost his music, John was there to give it back to him, the only way he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Violin Concerto For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heavenlymindpalace](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=heavenlymindpalace).



> Sorry if this is completely far away from your prompt. This is the closest I could get.

The first thing that he had recognize was the sound of a gentle lullaby overflowing with love. At that time his parents had joked that he would probably be musician when he grew up. Sherlock though paid them no mind. The soft and calming tune of the music was far more interesting to him.

That brilliant mind of his, somehow understood what the musician was saying through music.

 

 

Mr and Mrs. Holmes were doting parents in different ways, where Mrs. Holmes was unrestrainedly vocal and physical with her praise for both of their child, Mr. Holmes dotes on them through their accomplishments, big or small, he gave them his praises. Everyone in the Holmes family was a lover of music in varying degrees.

Mrs. Holmes was a talented musician, before they had Sherlock, her days were spent leisurely playing the piano with her older son Mycroft, who in turn had found music to his liking. Taking a particular like for the piano out of his adoration for his mother. Mr. Holmes though not being able to play any instrument or able to identify one musician from another, had an appreaciation to it, the same way one might to a painting. Thus he had spent time with his wife and Mycroft by listening to them play one composition to another. And when Sherlock came, the two of them listened together until Sherlock was old enough to walk and stand by himself.

 

Through the months he spent bundled up in his father's arms as his mother and brother played, Sherlock as observed by his family, had this sort of look in his eye that somehow understood music. The first lullaby he had heard was of course the one his mother had composed for him just as she had composed for her older son Mycroft. Sherlock's young world was filled with music.

 

As a child Sherlock had rarely asked for anything and so upon hearing his first request, They had complied.

 

The Holmes family were walking through the streets when a young Sherlock barely 6 had found his gaze on a beautiful violin proudly displayed on an old music store. Letting go of his brother's hand, he pressed his fingers on the store shop window and gazed adoringly on the instrument. Mycroft, fond of his younger brother, tugged on their mother's hand and gestured at Sherlock.

 

"Father, can I have the violin?" Sherlock had asked genuinely and for the first time looked liked a child his age. Mr. Holmes smiled and went over to his child, crouching before him and ruffled his child's head before standing up once more and led him inside the store.

His wife and older son smiling fondly behind the father and son pair.

 

Sherlock soon joined his mother and brother in playing once he had enough skill to play with them. His father sitting on the couch happily listening to the music his family played. The Holmes' home was always filled with music even when Mycroft and Sherlock left.

Mrs. Holmes never stopped playing for her husband and likewise he didn't stop listening to his wife's music.

  

Years passed and Sherlock grew up into a wary and distrusting adult. Though people that somehow knew him one way or another knew he played the violin there were only a few people besides his family who had ever heard him produce a beautiful music. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that there was only one other person who knew of it.

 

 

 

John Watson at a young age had a certain spot for the classics. His family were amused with the fact that John as a baby was often easily calmed by the strings of the violin. And though he was loathe to find he had no talent or whatsoever for the violin, he was glad to be good at the next instrument often partnered withit.

John had took piano lessons as a child and was often the point of praise by his teacher. Despite that he had no ability to compose, so he changed his piano for a clarinet and was surprisngly good at it as well. Though his first love was the violin, he still loved the piano and clarinet and at one point had fantasize of meeting his wife through music.

 

John's interest with music stayed and his lovers found his love for the classics often surprising once they knew him well enough. Mixed with his CDs of famous bands, were the classics mostly dominated by violin and piano pieces.

But as children and young men were often to do, he found his interest starting to wander through the second half of his secondary towards medicine and the army. Though his parents were loathe to send their child and Harriet even more to let go of her younger brother, they did with a heavy heart. John H. Watson had always been the sun of the family. Despite his normal upbringing, John had grown up to be a very interesting person, in the eyes of one man who reveled in him.

 

 

 

The meeting between the two men had been the start of something great and good for the both of them. John's love for the violin and music had brought him closer to Sherlock other than their shared black humour and adrenaline fix. Sherlock would often play for John for different reasons and occasions that only he knew of. John's knowledge of music despite being better than the larger populace was still less when compared to Sherlock's not that the latter minded. There were many things about John that reminded Sherlock of his father.

Behind close doors and away from prying older brothers, 221 B was usually filled with music during the days before they had cases, a resemblance of the Holmes Family tradition before the two brothers had left.

Despite their closeness there were still things they did not know about each other, it had not bothered them for like how people are known to do, they had thought they all had the time in the world.

 

Sherlock's death had shattered more than just that thought.

 

 

John's grief were channeled through his music, on days that he remembered the good times he would play happier piece which was rare, and on days his friend's death felt too much and the world felt to unbearable he would play the saddest music anyone ever heard, which was often. Through this he had met Mary who was one of his regulars who would frequent the music shop and listen to him play the music for hours.

'It was inevitable' the old shop keeper thought as he watched John and Mary play together, piano and cello playing _Salut d' Amour._

 

Where John had no ability to compose, Mary almost had it in spades.

221 B was briefly filled with music as the two played to their heart until that music moved on to another place. In John's new home, Mary had written different compositions for him and John in return despite being rubbish at it wrote her poems to the best of his ability. People around them had often commented how they were like Elgar and his wife, composing and writing songs and poems for each other respectively.

 

Sherlock's return though had caused a discord upon the slow life John was composing with Mary. And for a moment he had thought it would be better he was wrong. His wife was not who she had claimed to be and once more John felt the world was too much.

It was the first time Sherlock heard John play. John's _Etude Op.10, No. 3_  felt much more sadder than what the composer had intended, John's despair was palpable in his music and Sherlock who had always showed his emotions through his music felt John's. In that darkened cathedral with John's music filling in the place. For the first time since his return he cried silently as he listened to his friend's playing.

 

It took a long time and Mary's departure for them to once more have what they had before.

 

John who had never known Sherlock knew his skill with the piano in that empty and darkened cathedral he broke into found himself surprised with Sherlock's knowledge of his skill though he had not questioned it as he had thought his friend had knew through the state of his wrists. Sherlock though was yearning to find a reason to be able to play with John or at least hear his music once more preferrably happier this time. The arrival of an interesting case that had to do with Sherlock's former violin master was something he was glad to accept.

 

It was a chance to hear what kind of music they would make.

 

John and Sherlock had ended up in a concert sponsored by Sherlock's former violin master, John allowed himself to be immersed by the violinist unconsciously playing in his lap the piano accompaniment to  _Polonaise Brilliante No.1, Op. 4_ , Sherlock watching with amusement as he played the tune of John in his mind. When the music ended John opened his eyes and found some guest looking at him with a smile which made him realize how his fingers were pressed upon an imaginary piano. He blushed and put his hands down, he glared at Sherlock when the man had chuckled. A quick glance at the stage made him blush more.

The female violinist was smiling at him.

Backstage, The Maestro had jumped on the chance to make him play the piano upon recognizing John as one of his former student's student. With the female violinist as his partner, John had hesitantly sat on the backstage piano and played  _Gavotte_. with her. Everyone who could hear John's music closed their eyes and stopped just to listen.

Sherlock had considered that a testament to John's skill and even he felt his lips quirk into a smile just hearing the joyful tune that John's music was making. And Sherlock's desire to have a duet with John grew.

 

Unfortunately, life was seldom kind to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

 

 

"...I'll be taking my leave then, Doctor Watson"

John stands and guides the other physician out of the room before hastily returning to Sherlock's side. He was glad that help came quickly but it could not be fast enough to prevent the frostbite from taking Sherlock's fingers. John felt melancholy about it, his hands ghosting over his friend's left hand now devoid of its fingers.

'I would miss it terribly' John thought as he waited for his best friend to wake up softly humming the tunes of  _Beau Soir_ for his best friend. John knew that as soon as Sherlock woke up and saw his fingerless hands, he would see his friends broken face.

To be able to no longer play or even hold the violin would truly be painful for someone who had spent the better part of his years with the said instrument. John hoped that they could work through it.

 

When Sherlock woke up in the hospital room, his first thought was, 'water'. Sitting up, he saw John clasping his hand. He smiled and twitched his fingers, it had taken a while for his brain to register that he could not feel the said limbs. Panic settled in and he quickly got them out of John's. The realization settled in his brain and for an hour his thoughts could only run through one sentence.

'I no longer have my music'

 

John snapped out of his dream and saw Sherlock awake and saw his friend blankly staring at the windows outside that showed the rising sun.

"Good morning, John" his friend greeted and to John's ears it sounded so broken that he had to bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself. Wordlessly, John reached out to his friend and grasped the now fingerless limb and held on tight. He wanted to offer his friend a hug but he was not sure whether Sherlock would like it. Their relationship was still rocky as it is.

John heard Sherlock inhale deeply before letting it out slowly. John tightened his hold on Sherlock and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulders. It was the best he could do.

 

Sherlock with his eyes closed tried to pretend that he was not deeply affected by the lost of his fingers. He still had The Work, he still had John. John who would always be there for him, his patient and loving John. His John whose music he would never know what it would sound like melded with his own music.

Sherlock Holmes felt grief. The knowledge of never being able to express what he could not easily say to John made his heart heavy.

 

 

What followed after, caused the slowly closing gap between the two to widen.

 

Sherlock pretended that losing his fingers meant nothing. Though everyone could see it affected him, even Anderson and Donovan saw it. There were times when Sherlock and John would forget that the former had lost it fingers, so when Sherlock would ask John to throw him something, it either ended up on the floor or smacking Sherlock somewhere in his body depending on how he was positioned.

The first time it happened, John and Sherlock where awkward about it. Both unsure on how to react.

The ninth time somehow they ended up laughing about it, in front of the whole Met. It was there did they find their new rhythm.

It took a lot of time for before Sherlock decided that while it was amusing, it was just as tiring for things to just fall a few centimeters away from him or either hit him on the face. John whole heartedly agreed.

And though the widening gap was ever so slowly closing again there were days though that made Sherlock yearn for his music. It was on this days that he was utterly acerbic and spiteful, most of the times unintenionally still his words where always sharp and hit right where it would hurt. Sherlock hated those days.

He hates how utterly inept he was at expressing what he felt, annoyed at his inadequacy to tell John how he felt. The times where he could just pick up his Stradivarius and just play for John and compose for John were gone. This were the days that 221 B felt like it had a gaping hole.

 

Sherlock knew that on those days John without a word went out for long walks and he would retreat to his mind palace, back to the memories of having the familiar weight of his phantom limbs holding his violin. There were days though when not only his phantom limb would haunt 221 B, there where days when he would hide away in his room that he would hear the faint sounds of a violin playing the compositions he made for John, from the moment John came to 221 B, while he was on his death years, and the waltz that he created for John.

Those were the times Sherlock closed his eyes and drowned out the noise of the world.

 

For a man who could only express and understand sentiment through music, the lost of it would be undeniably hard. This was something John H. Watson understood. His first love had been music, followed by the violin, the piano and maybe the clarinet.

John knew that most of his lasting relationships were with people who like him loved music. There was sweet Anne who played the flute, fierce Ara who would play the Kafir harp when he asked for it, silent Fahran who plays his Ghaychak on nights John couldn't sleep, and Mary with her cello and compositions who made music for him, for their child and their life.

 

But then there was Sherlock, Sherlock who played his first love, the only relationship that had lasted longer than the rest. 

 

So John sought out the best and most patient violin tutor who could at least give him the semblance of talent with playing with the instrument. He wanted to play for Sherlock, to tell him the only way it would reach Sherlock's heart that he was staying with him till the end. It took him months before his tutor had told him he had improved. Months of endless playing until the violin became a part of him.

and today was the deciding moment, if he could play  _Song From a Secret Garden_ flawlessly he could in theory be able to play Sherlock's pieces.

 

 

In the slowly wakening street of bakerstreet, the soft sounds of a violin is heard. The sun was shining brightly and it had roused Sherlock Holmes into lucidity, the soft tunes of violin entering his room. For a man in love, Sherlock could easily recognize John's music slowly, so as to not alert John, he stepped out of his room and walk silently towards the living area where John was undoubtedly playing.

Basked in the glorious sunlight, John looked picturesque as he played the violin and lost himself to the music he was playing.

 

The slow progression of Sherlock falling for John was similar to how the greats composed their music. The first tentative tunes being written into paper, changing this and that until the perfect tune was made.

John's though was that of a musician slowly grasping the instrument they fallen for, endlessly and passionately playing and caring for it until a piece could played flawlessly with it.

 

It was only fitting that when Sherlock's music was lost, the first tune he would hear once more would be the first music piece he had composed for John, the one that told, those who would listen closely, how they met, how he gained a friend in John and fallen deeply in love with kind and unassuming army doctor. It held pure love and adoration, untarnished by the pain of their separation and Mary's betrayal.

 

"...John" he whispers as tears flow down from his face, Sherlock Holmes was crying as he watched his friend play the violin and hear the music of his love being played for him. Because Sherlock had always understood sentiment through music, he could without doubt understand John's music. The soft breeze that passed through the open window of 221 B made the white curtains of their flat flutter.

 

John smiled at Sherlock and placed the violin and bow on top of the table. And met Sherlock in the middle. As two people who had realize the love that had always been in front of them do, John and Sherlock kissed slowly and sweetly. The rest of the world fading into the distance.

 


End file.
